


requiem

by Nickety



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 18:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickety/pseuds/Nickety
Summary: Written for Jonsa Week 2019. Prompt: Past-Present-Future.A rainy day. A wedding day.(To protect against spoilers, no archive warnings were specifically chosen for this fic, but I would like to assure readers that this story contains no violence, graphic material, nor any mention of non-con)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Other(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	requiem

He found her in the stuffy old attic of Stark Manor, leaning against the large antique windows overlooking the gardens the family collectively called “Melantha’s Joy,” her great, great-grandfather Willam’s gift to his Blackwood bride when she arrived from the fertile Riverlands to the winter-torn North. Sansa had always loved that story, a fact Jon remembered with a soft smile as he crossed the room to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“What have you been doing up in this dreary old place?” he inquired, thoughtfully glancing down at the rain-soaked garden, covered in a multicolored autumnal blanket. The winter roses were beginning to bud, one of Sansa’s favorites. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

When she neither responded nor leaned back into his embrace, Jon looked down speculatively to whatever the object of her deep contemplation must be, finding her to be holding a photograph. He felt almost sheepish at the image of himself, so young and fresh-faced and grinning ear to ear, sprawled out across an old feather mattress beside a laughing Sansa, the two of them covered in an absurd amount of dust. The carefree joy of that afternoon flooded back to him, the two of them seeking refuge from yet another boring family function, the silliness of hiding like children devolving into an impromptu game of tag. Jon, exasperated with his evasive prey after circling the attic four or five times and still not the best cognitive thinker at nineteen, had gone for a tackle. They landed hard on an antique bed in the corner, disturbing a decade or two of dust and grime. Sansa’s quick reach for her camera had immortalized the moment for their eyes to see now a decade later.    
  
Jon grinned, tucking his chin against her shoulder to take a closer look. “I remember that. I don’t think I stopped sneezing for the rest of the day.”

Sansa traced a finger down the familiar features of his smiling face, forever captured in time. “We used to sneak up here,” she whispered, tilting her head back toward the window. “Take snatches of time together whenever we could. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t talked about, nothing we couldn’t share.” She sighed. “Our first kiss. Our first time.” She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the glass. “I miss that. Everything seemed so much simpler then.”

Solemn and focused in his concern now, Jon tightened his arms around her. “Things change, lovely girl. But it doesn’t mean we don’t still have a lot of good in our lives.” He paused thoughtfully, searching for the appropriate words. “Today is a happy day. Don’t lose sight of that.”

She was quiet for a long moment, before she nodded resolutely. “What am I thinking...today’s a good day, not the time for sad memories. I can’t forget that.”

Jon hummed in agreement. “I love you,” he replied softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I know this whole process had been stressful, and everyone’s coming across a little overbearing, but they mean well. There’s no need to hide up here any more, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s better not to be a secret.”

She sighed and relaxed, pressed between the window and his body. She closed her eyes, smiled, and softly breathed his name. “Jon.”

The sound of the rain against the manor’s roof echoed through the quiet space, and just for a few peaceful moments, he held her silently, letting the rest of the world wait just a little bit longer.    
  
  


Jon was nervous, though he wasn’t quite sure why. 

A military veteran with two tours under his belt, he had risked his life countless times and come out unscathed, And yet, he had never been more petrified, struck more terrified, than by the happenings of this day. 

A wedding. 

The ceremony was to be held in a modest little sept in Wintertown, despite Sansa’s initial insistence on a Northern gathering in the godswood of the old Winterfell estate. The appearance of a small bump around her middle quieted all talk of outdoor espousals, and the late spring wedding date became autumn nuptials. For Sansa’s sake, Jon let himself get used to the idea, but couldn’t help thinking back to the games of pretend they played when they were young, and the numerous blankets and jackets he draped around her imagining a grand Stark cloak of yore. 

He fiddle restlessly with the sleeve of his jacket, letting in his eyes wander over the assembled crowd, taking some comfort in the assembly of familiar and beloved faces. Soon enough, the crowd grew quiet and he followed their gazes toward the back doorway. She was a vision in white, breathtakingly beautiful in ways no mortal should have a right to be. His mouth went dry, his heart pounded, and blood roared in his eyes as Ned walked her slowly down the aisle, proudly bringing her to a stop beside her future groom. 

The ceremony flew by quietly, and Jon doubted he heard or understood a single word escaping the septon’s mouth. Vows were said with breathless enthusiasm, her radiant smile remaining the center of his world as bride and groom were finally pronounced husband and wife. 

The applause of the crowd dulled to a low drum as Jon stood before her, swallowing hard as he gently laid a hand against her cheek and leaned down. 

The kiss was soft, light as a whisper, barely tangible if not for the way his heart soared with elation, and all other sensation melted away save for the brush of his lips against hers. 

Sansa Stark gasped abruptly, her eyes widening as she touched her fingers to her tingling tips. A fleeting brush of contact, no more palpable than a soft breeze of air, and yet she had felt him. An achingly familiar presence, a kiss she could never forget despite three years without.  _ Jon.  _

Beside her, her husband frowned in concern. “Darling, are you alright?”

Sansa distractedly reassured him, her eyes lingering thoughtfully on the empty space beside her. 

Jon’s smile was soft and sad, as he raised his hand in an attempt to touch her once again, but this time to no avail, his fingers passing through her rather than finding purchase. It was a good man beside her, a man who loved her openly and wholeheartedly, no dark corners or midnight whispers required. Everything Jon had never been able to offer her. 

“Congratulations, Sansa.”  _ I love you,  _ was the last thought to fill his mind as a warmth and a peace like he had never known enveloped him, and he closed his eyes, finally letting go. 

Jon Snow, dead for nearly four years, had managed to fulfill an old promise, and kiss the bride on her wedding day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why was their love forbidden? I honestly don't know. Maybe its a western cousin thing, maybe they're half-siblings. Interpret as you will.


End file.
